


Zombies(Are More than Just Dead)

by monochromia



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 17:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18554488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monochromia/pseuds/monochromia
Summary: Won’t you sing me a fairytale,Something with dreams and an end?Apocalypses are places where the stories meant to happen, won’t. Finn and Jorgen were one in a long line I sung to...





	Zombies(Are More than Just Dead)

_Won’t you sing me a fairytale,  
Something with dreams and an end? _

Apocalypses are places where the stories meant to happen, won’t. Finn and Jorgen were one in a long line I sung to...

 _Won’t you hold a bullet in your mouth; a silver above death_  
_Won’t you show me we can make it_  
_If we’re both colored in red_

“Incoming left side,” Jorgen calls, “Watch out for anyone flanking.” 

“I’m watching,” Finn takes the scope they both share, “I see one, 7 o’clock.” 

“On my mark,” Jorgen cocks the assault rifle under his hands. It’s a heavy one -- enough to leave a zombie incapacitated for a few days. 

They always come back though, the stubborn fuckers. 

“Fire,” both of them shoot their shots and they hit true. The undead faces of the zombies below freeze and then slowly fall over. 

Ales could finish them off there, but they only have four rockets left and these ones are not dangerous enough to warrant elimination. They’ll pack their bags and move to a new place and that duo won’t be able to follow them. 

“You always look so sexy when you have a gun in your hands,” Finn purrs, curling a hand around Jorgen’s cheek before kissing him. He tastes like barely cooked porridge and beans, but it’s still amazing and Jorgen finds himself smiling. 

“I could say the same to you,” Jorgen strokes Finn’s matted hair. It’s been a while since they found a spring to bathe in, but he still looks gorgeous with his rosy lips and dancing eyes. 

“Cheesy,” Finn laughs and takes Jorgen’s hand. 

“You love it though,” Jorgen grins and kisses everyone of Finn’s grime covered fingers. 

“Yeah,” Finn casts his eyes down, lashes softly fluttering, “I really do.” 

They walk back to camp in companionable silence, listening to the birds and watching the clouds move over a clear sky. If there’s anything good that came out of this mess, is that the world is quiet enough now to see the things the city lights drowned out before. 

“Hey Jorgen,” 

“Yeah”

“If this is ever over, what would you do?” 

“Start a new life with you.” 

“You dork,” Finn tackles him and wrestles him to the ground, tickling his sides. Giving it as best as he’s got, Jorgen tickles him back and tussles his way back on top. From the smirk he gets from Finn, that’s exactly what the Swede wants as he leans up for more kisses. 

_Won’t you be careful?_  
_I haven’t been caught yet_  
_Please be safe_  
_I won’t die on you yet_

“We need metal for Anders’ arm and medicine for the winter. I don’t want to have to sneak into the Dump again.” 

“Okay,” Jorgen looks around with the binoculars. The coast seems clear, “it looks alright right now. We know the Fnatics were last spotted far south, camping around the Dump, and if the Generation 2 zombies were nearby, we’d have heard them by now.” 

“Aw, you don’t have to worry for me,” Finn wraps his arms around Jorgen’s shoulders, “I’ve done this a million times. I’ll be back before you know it.” 

“Yeah, you’re the best scavenger this side of the wasteland,” Jorgen smiles, but Finn can feel his anxiety in the hug he gives him, fingers trailing his back longer than usual. 

“Kiss me for good luck?” Finn gives Jorgen a cheeky pinch on the cheek and soon enough he’s being pressed into the wall of their lean-into, moaning softly as Jorgen sucks on his neck. 

Jorgen leaves a bright red mark of over Finn’s pulse, blood pearling around it prettily like rubies against embroidered fabric. 

-

A week passes, but Finn isn’t back yet. 

“Finn’s late, it’s unlike him,” 

“He’ll make it, he’s too good not to,” 

“...he has to.” 

-

A snarl and Olivier flashes their lantern only to see a man, hair matted, clothes torn and dirtied by what looks like saliva, bright blue eyes flashing deliriously. 

All of them are on their feet for their weapons as the half-zombied man staggers forward, carrying a package. Jorgen panics as the man seems to focus on him, but feels his heart drop into his feet and his veins run cold when he gets a second look. 

“Finn?” The package spills and inside is pieces of metal and pills -- the rarest thing in the wasteland -- but no pill has been made to cure this. 

“Jorgen,” those blue eyes clear for a moment before red madness covers them again and the man growls, falling to his knees as foam seeps from his mouth. 

“No, no, no,” Jorgen reaches out to his lover, “Where’s the bite? Maybe we can--” 

Finn tilts his head to the side, as if asking for a kiss. Instead is a pair of deep fangs, oozing black over his pulse point. If it weren’t for the virus, he’d probably have bled out. 

“Patrik’s here,” the zombie with a gnarled face and who can smell blood from miles away and Jorgen is so stupid-- 

“We have to kill him,” Ales grimly pulls out his rocket launcher, “We can’t very well cut off his head the way we cut off Anders’ arm.” 

“We can’t! He’s --” my love, my everything. 

We were supposed make it. 

“You have to or else he’ll hunt us. He knows our scents too well now,” Sebastian shakes his head, “we have to kill him or he’ll kill us. Especially you.” 

Jorgen opens his mouth to say would that be so bad? But he can’t make those words come out, no matter how they swirl in his mind because it’s all his fault isn’t it? 

_Won’t you stop me if I’m mad_  
_Pin me down, rough me up_  
_Won’t you kiss it all better_  
_And forgive me when it’s over_

“Please,” a caress of a voice that reminds him of the sweet nights flies in between the increasingly loud snarls like a child’s kite in a storm, “If I have to go then-”. He clings to the moment before as he readies his gun-- 

_A monster’s entered the camp_  
_Anders’ screaming_

cocks his shotgun

 _We can’t kill Kasper  
I’ll do it for you if you don’t Tore_

closes his eyes  
_Give me a kiss  
Start a new life with you_

“Won’t you kill me--” 

shoots Finn point blank, straight through the heart. Once, twice, until the whole cartridge is empty. 

The zombie stumbles, staggers, cannot move with how many bullets are inside its husk of a frame. 

“Jorgen” his name is the last prayer of a dead man. 

“Jorgen,” Ales hands him the rocket launcher, just one rocket inside, “you can do this.” Jorgen looks at him with barren eyes, life stripped out of them as he mechanically takes the offered launcher.

“Good-bye,” Jorgen says when fires the rocket at the zombie, Ales’s hands dug into his shoulder. 

There’s only ashes left, taken in the night wind. Andrei limps over to hand him one of their empty bags and holds his hands as they brush the rest of the ashes inside. 

-

_Won’t you hold me till we’re dead  
Till there’s only dust left _

Shaking, Jorgen stares at the ashes left on his hands, the blackened, twisted ends of his love in contrast to sky eyes he remembers.

One day we’re going to fly up there. 

He smears his hands tentatively on his arms and then howls, clawing at himself, rubbing the ashes into his hair, and somewhere, thinks of rosy lips and touches his own with his fingers still steeped in grey.

“Don’t you dare,” Sebastian catches his hands before they can dip into his mouth, “Don’t you dare do that to us.” 

“Finn--” 

“Would have wanted you to live, you crazy fucker” Sebastian shakes Jorgen forcefully, “He didn’t go out on raids because he wanted to. It was because he wanted you to live. For us as a pack to live. Don’t you dare disrespect him like that.”

“And if you risk the little ones like that I’ll kill you,” Ales slaps him across the cheek, a step behind Sebastian, “You’re not going to risk Olivier and Anders like that. Don’t you dare put them through what Marek and Tore went through.” 

“But--” 

“I will kill you right here if you do that,” Ales’ eyes glower and for a second, Jorgen scrambles for his gun in fright, “if you want to join him so badly, but don’t turn on us.” 

“I-”

“Jorgen,” Andrei whispers, bruised eyes looking at him sadly, placing his soot-covered hands on top of Jorgen’s, “We still need you. I need you. Please don’t make us lose two people today.” 

Storm meets the sea and crashes into it and Jorgen breaks. 

“You’re right,” Jorgen sobs, _lets the storm crash down_ , lets Sebastian wipe the ash away with a cloth, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t,” Andrei hugs him tightly, not caring that they’re both filthy and covered in a dead man’s remains, “Don’t...it’s okay. It’s okay to be sad now. We’ll get through this. We’re still here for you. I’m still here for you.” 

Jorgen wails on Andrei’s shoulder the whole night, screaming as if he were the one who became a monster.

His eyes in the morning don’t entirely reassure them that’s he’s not. 

-  
_Won’t you write your name with mine_  
_On a tree, in the vines_  
_Won’t you tell your story_  
_My history in your lips_  
_Won’t you sing with me_  
_About the time we were both free_

“What are you doing?” Anders asks cautiously as he sees Jorgen holding up a silver bullet, eyeing it. 

“Carving,” Jorgen says stiffly, his movements and speech have become much more stilted since Finn died. He’s not Marek yet, but Anders is worried. Inching forward with his bad side, he sees if Jorgen will let him sit next to him. Jorgen doesn’t acknowledge him, but he doesn’t push him away and right now, Anders takes that. 

Sees the smooth swirl of a J, curling like the smoke coming from the King of the Dump’s base, and then anger-- harsh lines for an E, then an F then a W. 

“That’s going in the next zombie that tries to get us isn’t it.” Because it’s even more personal now, even more so than when Kasper was turned. 

“Yes,” no smile, no glee, just yes, “Hold it for me.” 

“Sure,” Anders watches as Jorgen makes the same motions over and over again on the packet Sebastian had scrounged up, “I can tell Olivier to get your guns?” 

“That’d be good,” a pat, no smile. 

A F W etches itself into harsh wood and each time the barrel above it fires, it gets just a bit deeper, just a bit less straight and more wild and gnarled. 

It’s a long time until it’s allowed to be still. 

-

_Won’t you wait for me at the end_  
_Won’t you see me even if we’re dead_  
_Won’t I see you in the dawn_  
_Won’t we get there some day_  
_Where all we need to do is hope and pray_

**Author's Note:**

> A dabble into personal lyrics integrated into writing and a much more minimalist style. Feedback as always is welcome


End file.
